Eventually
by Never Stray
Summary: Draco was backed up to his neck in Heads work, his sexuality was the running joke of the week, and his nether regions had decided to take an abrupt interest in the Head Girl sleeping in the next room. It really sucked to be him.  DMHG Dramione.
1. Boys and Girls

Chapter 1

Pity rose like bile inside Hermione. She put her fork down, unable to take another bite of her plate of trifle. With a certain measure of fascinated disgust, she returned her gaze to the Hufflepuff table, where Hannah Abbott was making her way through yet another triple serving- this time of chocolate cake.

It was a terrible sight. The eating girl looked lifeless, pained almost, as though it was a hand besides her own filling her puffed cheeks with food. Her lips were greasy in the candlelight and she had not bothered to wipe the bits of food that dribbled down her shirt.

Hermione kept her head down, warning herself not to stare obtrusively.

"What is she doing?" Parvati said, in a hushed tone. Hermione, it seemed, wasn't the only one who noticed Hannah's miserable behavior.

"I heard she was dumped," Lavender replied, in an uncharacteristically sympathetic whisper. "Poor thing."

Hermione put her napkin on her table and stood up, drawing the attention of the two boys besides her. Ron and Harry, whom had been engrossed in heated debates on how best to humiliate and defeat Ravenclaw in tomorrow's Quidditch match, had not noticed Hannah swallowing enough food to power the Burrow during Christmas.

"I'll be right back," Hermione told them, and they returned their attention to the scrawled diagrams Harry had spread across his lap. She straightened her skirt and made her way around the table. Although Hannah and she weren't the best of friends, they were good acquaintances.

By now, the people around Hannah had begun to clear out. Hermione's heart went out for the girl. Hermione knew the emotional roller coaster of a bad breakup all too well herself, and her eyes unconsciously lighted on Lavender, still chatting back on the Gryffindor table.

Suddenly, a black-haired boy stood up other side of the hall, and sauntered over where Hannah was sitting, like a lion zeroing in on prey. Several Slytherin upperclassmen boys stood up to get a better view, jeering him on. Hannah paused and slowly, with a certain air of dread, turned her eyes upward towards where Malcolm Wilkes towered over her.

"Hate to break it to you Abbott, but Harper broke up with you 'cause you wouldn't put out." He paused, then added, "Or maybe you were too skinny for him." His House table broke into snickers. Tears glistened in Hannah's eyes and, to the astonishment of everyone around them, she silently turned back to her plate and continued to eat, as if the act would shield her from verbal abuse.

"Quit being a pig," Wilkes snarled at her, in an hate filled tone that sent shivers down Hermione's back. "You're making the rest of us lose our appetites."

Outrage coiled in Hermione and instinctively, she grabbed her wand.

"Stop it, Wilkes. You better watch what you're saying, unless you want to spend the rest of your evenings this week in detention."

The tall, brutish boy turned, his eyes lit with glee. "Why if it isn't the little Mudblood. Playing Professor are we?" He eyed her wand. "Going to hex me? I was only doing the public a service by removing unsightly... objects." Here, he looked down at Hannah.

Disdain and disgust filtered into Hermione's voice. She did not lower her wand. "How can you say that in front of everyone? Did you even consider how humiliating you're making this for her?"

"Oh, cut the shit, Granger. You and I both know you're only doing this for your reputation."

"What?"

"Defending Hufflepuffs, I mean. You don't give a rat's arse about Abbott. You just want to look _responsible_." He said this as if it was the least desirable thing to be. "Brown-nosing to the Professors."

"That's not true," Hermione replied, affronted.

Suddenly, sniffles sounded beneath them, and both looked down toward the girl who had started the argument.

"Oh, Hannah," Hermione cooed, and reached to help the girl from behind the bench. To her surprise, her arm was thrown off with surprising strength.

"Stop it, Hermione," Hannah said, wiping furiously at her eyes. "Just stop pretending you care. We both know that Wilkes is telling the truth!"

"What? Hannah, _no."_

"_Oh, Hannah's so humiliated. She looks so pathetic. How can you say that in front of everyone, Wilkes,"_ Hannah mimicked Hermione in a startlingly accurate, if high pitched tone. "You're making everything worse. I don't need your help, bitch!" The plump Hufflepuff girl ran out of the room, rubbing at her eyes.

Wilkes snickered. "Looks like you've been dumped, Granger."

Confusion reared in her. She'd never felt anything but wholehearted affection for the girl. What on Earth would cause Hannah to even consider that the cruel Slytherin's jabs were the truth?

Hermione noticed Hannah's bound sheets of essays and homework were left abandoned in her seat at the same time as the boy.

"Oh, she won't be needing these. Hufflepuffs don't take intelligent notes anyway." The last comment earned him a couple of glares from the surrounding students, which the boy shrugged off. He raised his wand, and Hermione realized what he was about to do a second before it happened.

With a wave, he Vanished the contents of the pages. All of Hannah's hard works, what looked like days of assignments, were gone in a blink. If public humiliation in front of all her friends was bad, this would only add to the blow.

"No!" Hermione said. "_Aparecium_!" But nothing happened. The parchments appeared as blank as the day Hannah purchased them from the stationary store.

Wilkes began to laugh, and to Hermione's chagrin, many Slytherins joined in. Hermione needed to restore the essays and talk to Hannah.

She stalked over to the jeering table, Hannah's vanished essays in hand, and the noise quieted in her wake.

"Malfoy!" The blond boy, who was currently talking with Zabini, looked up. Everything in his posture- from his tipped back chair to his hand stretching behind his head- indicated he'd taken no heed of the previous events. But Hermione knew he was faking. His reaction was just a little too anticipated.

"What's wrong, Granger?" He said mockingly, imitating her urgent tone.

"Do something about Wilkes."

Malfoy raised his eyes to a point over Hermione's shoulder, where she assumed Wilkes was standing, and said, "Why should I?"

"You're Head boy."

"And?" He raised an eyebrow. Ok, so he had a point. It appeared that the Head badge pinned to his chest had little effect on his behavior. Except perhaps that he now went out of his way to find excuses to dock points from Harry and Ron.

"The least you could do," Hermione said, bracing both hands on the table between where Parkinson and Bulstrode sat, "is manage your own House properly." Her tone insinuated his incompetence.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair further, putting distance between himself and the brunette girl. "You and I both know that nothing is going to come of this. I don't assist you when it comes to clearing up these stupid arguments and I'm not about to start now. No, put that wand away. You wouldn't dare hex me. Now, why don't you run off after the Hufflepuff? Much more productive."

Hermione scowled, and summoned her bag from across the Hall. "This isn't over," she told him, already headed for the door.

He rolled his eyes. "It never is."

* * *

Draco leaned back on his bed, kicking off his shoes. They slid along the floor and knocked over a pile of homework he hadn't done. Fucking Flitwick and his foot long essays.

"Yo, Malfoy!" Draco looked up to see a bottle sailing at his head. He snatched it just before it broke on his face.

"Nice catch," said Malcolm as he tossed more bottles at the other three boys in the dorm. Draco popped the cap open and drank, the firewhiskey burning a straight path of fire down his throat.

"Ogden's Old, sweet! How'd you get it?" asked Theodore, sitting up now and uncapping his own. Blaise and Thomas mimicked his actions.

"Confundus charm on the waitress at the Hog's Head," said Malcolm, grinning, as he clinked bottoms with the boys before taking a swig.

"You are one brilliant bloke, Wilkes. You know that?" Blaise said, and Draco laughed in agreement, toasting Malcolm with a swig of his own bottle.

"Well, I had to get something for Malfoy," the boy replied. "Thank you, merciful Head Boy, for saving my fragile soul from the all-consuming wrath of Granger," he simpered sarcastically, and Draco punched him in the arm.

The boys sat, getting substantially drunker off their individual stolen bottles. Malcolm had begun to sway precariously from his perch on the desk. After a couple minutes, everyone was pleasantly buzzed and the conversation turned, inevitably, to girls.

"Romilda Vane," Theodore said.

"Six," Thomas replied, wiping residual alcohol off his lips.

"Minus one for being Gryffindor," Draco added.

"Plus one for tits." Everyone laughed.

"Astoria Greengrass," Malcolm said.

"Gross, man. Don't be a fucking pedo," replied Thomas.

"She's fifteen!"

"She looks like she's twelve," Draco said.

"Fine. You pick." Malcolm looked put out at being shot down, but turned to Thomas.

The dark haired boy looked thoughtful, then turned a gleeful look that was distinctly Slytherin to Draco. "Hermione Granger."

A chorus of laughs and "ohhs" sounded around the room. Annoyingly, all the gazes turned to Draco. "I thought we were rating chicks," he said.

They all grinned, but after a moment of quiet pensiveness, Blaise said, "Eight."

"You're fucking wasted, Zabini," Draco declared. "This is Granger we're talking about here." He thought about the girl's mass of brown hair, short stature, and obnoxious motherly tone and shuddered.

"Have you seen her legs?" Blaise shot back.

"Or her ass?" Theodore supplied.

"Or her eyes?" Thomas added. "… What?" he asked defensively when the others shot him weird looks.

Ignoring Avery's disturbing comment, Draco said "This is because none of you have had a conversation with her for more than two minutes. She's completely unbearable."

"How would you know, Malfoy? You don't even live with her," said Blaise, referring to the fact that Draco had adamantly refused to move into the Head dorms after he found out that the Head Girl was going to Granger. He hadn't though he could've stand to be in proximity with her for that long.

Sprawling back on his won bed, Thomas said, "Yeah, man. Why the hell are you sleeping here?"

"I didn't want to catch a Muggle disease and die."

"You don't have to talk to her to _appreciate," _and here Theodore leered, "that body." Draco was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable with the boy's sleazy tone.

"Why the fuck are you hanging around this sausagefest when you could be with a girl that hot every night?" Blaise added. "Unless you're homo or some shit."

"I'm not a faggot, okay?" Draco punched the Italian boy, who shrugged.

"Just saying."

Draco looked at the group of boys and wondered what had changed. "She's a Mudblood," he argued, as a last resort.

"It's not like you're going to _marry_ her or anything." Blaise rolled his eyes.

Maybe it was just the firewhiskey clouding his mind, but he was starting to see their point. Sharing a room with three other boys could get mildly disgusting at times. Even with the nightly cleaning from the elves, the four of them managed to keep the room in a constant state of mess. Living in a room with a visible floor would be nice. Plus he heard rumors that the Heads' bathtub was so huge someone'd once drowned in it. And their comments about Granger did have some merit...

"You know what, assholes? Fine." Draco drained the remains of his bottle. The other boys whooped and Blaise clapped him on the shoulder. "You're all grown up, Drakey," he said in a high pitched voice, and Draco kicked him off his bed.

"I shot Malfoy's desk!" Thomas called.

"Then I get his space," Theo said, to the protests of the other boys. As they drunkenly divided up Draco's section of the room, the blond boy waved his wand and packed his trunk. The firewhiskey made him a bit light on his feet, but he wanted to piss in the legendary Heads' bathroom before he went to sleep.

Malcolm stared. "You leaving _now_?"

"Yeah," Draco responded. "Why the hell not?"

Blaise grinned. "Have fun."

"Later," Draco said, and kicked open the door to their dorm. Along the way, he summoned his stuff from the bathrooms. The Common Room was deserted and no one saw him leave the dungeons, luggage in tow.

His trunk and supplies floating behind him, it didn't occur to him how late it actually was. He realized the only lights on in the whole castle were the single torches lighting the corners.

He made his way to the Head portal, which consisted of a portrait of a King and a Queen, sitting on thrones of gold.

"Draco Malfoy?" the King asked, raising an eyebrow. "And where have you been?"

"None of your business," he sneered.

"It's definitely him," said the Queen to her husband, unfazed. "Let him in. We should let the girl know."

The portrait swung open to reveal a large room, and Draco saw the queen moving through a series of blank portraits lining the walls before disappearing before a door labeled "Head Girl".

Then he saw the size of the room and dropped his trunk, cackling manically. It was fucking huge. Not nearly as big as his room at the Mansion, but it was Gringotts compared to the dorm he'd shared with the boys. He couldn't understand why he had deluded himself into staying in that tiny dorm when all this could've been his.

"Albellia, what are you talking about? I-"

Draco heard her come out of her room, and saw Granger's jaw drop. The sight filled him with a sort of triumph.

As she studdered in disbelief, he began to lug his trunk manually towards the door marked as "Head Boy". In his absence, it seemed Granger had used the room as a personal library, it being filled with stacks of books. Draco gestured with his wand and the books sailed out of the room and landed in a messy stack on the floor outside. He replaced the stacks with his own things, and turned to the still shocked girl through the threshold.

Before she could get a word out, he said, "Sort your shit in the bathroom, Granger. I'm moving in," and slammed the door in her face.

* * *

A/N: BSed a couple of names in there, and I didn't bother too much with British speak. Hope you don't mind


	2. Whiskeyburn

Chapter 2

The heat smoldering in his throat increased tenfold when he shut the door.

What began as the pleasant, tingly aftertaste custom of firewhiskey grew quickly into an uncomfortable burning sensation in the pits of his stomach. As though he'd spent the past hour downing a bottle of kerosene instead of Ogden's Old, and had just swallowed a lit match.

"Ugh…" Without bothering to unpack, he sat down at the desk. Granger, it seemed, had not touched the furniture in the room. His face burned up underneath his palms.

There was a long mirror hung on the door. While his reflection was not covered in Fiendfyre (as he'd suspected), there were red, angry patches erupting over his skin. He began to shiver uncontrollably all over, even as he felt he could open his jaws and breathe flames.

Something was wrong, but he had no idea what. Panic constricted his breathing. He groped for his wand in his pants, and pointing it at himself, he choked out "_Episkey_."

Draco was no accomplished mediwizard, but the spell was weaker than expected. It cleared his throat of the invisible blisters that seemed to have erupted, but aggravated further the rashes on his skin. To make matters worse, his vision was blurring. Whether this was due to the strange burning or from the alcohol, he didn't know.

He swayed on his feet, and knocked a lamp over. It smashed to the ground, making a terribly loud noise.

"Malfoy? Are you ok-" Draco didn't give her a chance to finish. In one swift motion of surprising coordination, he jumped to his feet and yanked the door open. Granger had one hand in knocking position, the other gripping a wand. She was wearing a white camisole and sleeping shorts with her hair tied up. He couldn't help but notice how much prettier she looked without the bulky, black school robes.

Her eyes widened. "You're covered in blisters!"

"I realized," he said wryly.

She walked in, and he sat down in a chair, trying all the healing spells he knew. But he wasn't stupid. Muggle born or not, he admitted that she was probably the one witch who could and would help him in this situation.

"Do you think someone cursed you? What were-" She paused, and sniffed delicately. "You've been drinking!"

"Now's hardly the time," he snapped. "Know any spells? I've tried all the standard ones and _Episkey_ and even the flame-freezing-"

"No wait. Were you drinking firewhiskey?" She pulled her wand out.

"Yeah, why?"

"My guess is that it was expired. You've got Whiskeyburn."

"Whiskeyburn?" What? "I thought that was a myth." The only time he ever heard of that was in pop songs, when witches and wizards sang about shagging, dancing, and drinking so hard they got "burned."

"It's not," Granger said curtly, rolling her sleeves up and indicating for Draco to take off his jacket. "It's what happens when the liquor is bottled improperly. It's all quite complicated." Here she shot Draco a look heavily implying that he wouldn't understand. He resented that, but he bit back retorts. He wasn't going to sentence himself to a night with Madame Pomfrey's suspicious questions by pissing off the one person who could help him.

"Most bartenders can easily tell when the whiskey is bad. I can't believe that any sane person would sell this stuff to you." A sane person, maybe not, but a Confunded one?

Of course, Wilkes would never bother to check why exactly a waitress was hauling out five bottles of firewhiskey. Draco thought back to the other boys and wondered how they were holding up. Blaise had probably cured his own burn by now, but the other three were not quite so high up on the intelligence scale.

Why did he hang around them anyway? The only one among them that he moderately respected and would consider a friend was Zabini. Even now, he wasn't feeling much sympathetic towards Wilkes, Nott, and Avery. Especially not Wilkes. Draco touched a red blister blossoming beautifully up his wrist and hoped Wilkes would burn in hell.

"I'm going to extract the alcohol. We need to get you to the bathroom." Granger made a motion as if to drag him by the arm, but he quickly jerked it out of her grip, coming to his senses.

"If I'm going to piss it out," He ignored her disapproving look at his language. "You can just cast the charm here. No need for you to go with me."

"You can't just _urinate_ it out," she said. "The whiskey's got to come back out from the top."

"Like, I have to get sick?"

Here she shot a mischievous grin at his forehead. "Bit higher than that. Come on." She stood him on his feet, and he swayed a little, still a bit drunk.

Sighing, she wrapped an arm around his waist so she bore a bit more of his weight. Being a solid head taller, he balanced precariously over the Head Girl. The two made their way to the third door leading off from the common rooms.

"You're heavy."

"Shut up."

And then, like floodgates opening, the alcohol kicked in. Draco felt light as a feather, happy as can be. He wanted to know if Granger had secretly casted a Cheering spell on him. Everything faded a bit and even the burning felt more bearable.

When they reached the door, Granger had to hold her wand between her teeth to fumble with the door knob. Draco's hand eye coordination had deteriorated quite a bit by then, and he was seeing about three copies of everything swaying about.

He wanted to go to sleep. Maybe he was already asleep. Maybe nothing was real. The only thing that really grounded him to the moment was Granger's slim arm looped behind his waist, and her shoulder underneath his palm. It wasn't altogether an unpleasant feeling.

"Your hair smells nice," he told her.

She looked alarmed and then grinned slowly. "You are going to have _so_ much fun tomorrow morning."

She walked them over to the rim of the bathtub, as he could no longer do so.

"Big tub," he told her.

"It certainly is," she replied in an amused tone that rather reminded him of the one his mother adopted around small children. "Tilt your head back."

He did as her voice and her hands around his temple urged. It wasn't a pleasant position to be in, and he felt his abs tighten to hold him in place.

Then she leaned over him and everything was okay because he could see cleavage.

"Ready? _Immunada Extractum_." She gave her wand a complex wave that he had trouble following, and tapped his head. The results were immediate.

First, his drunken stupor dissipated. Damn. Every blister ached, his throat hurt and he could feel everything. Draco gritted his teeth.

The pain faded though, and he to his shock, he watched the red marks disappear, receding back from the bottom up.

Granger watched him with a smug look, and indicated for him to lean back a bit more.

He glanced up at her, annoyed. "What's this for-" He was cut off as he felt the burning sensation shoot up into his scalp. For three seconds, he literally thought his hair was melting. But as soon as it came, it was gone. He reached a hand up into his hair, and found it soaked in a golden liquid vaguely reminiscent of firewhiskey.

"It came out of my _hair_?" He raised his eyes to Granger, who was already filling the tub with water.

"Your scalp. Come on, you've got to wash it out before all your precious blond hair fall out. No magic."

As he knelt, head in the tub, he saw why she'd had him leaning back. On the marble of the tub, there was a puddle of golden liquid, formed from drippings from his hair. The water washed it away, and he felt cold soap trickle down his neck.

"I can wash my own hair."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Because if you miss a spot, you'll be waking up tomorrow with bald spots to go with the hangover."

Draco reflexively raised a hand to his hair, and the motion didn't go unnoticed by Granger. She laughed and pushed, perhaps with a bit more force than necessary, his head back into the water.

As she lathered and worked the soap in, he asked, "Why are you helping me?" He knew that she was a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor, but this was a little too generous.

"Don't think you're getting this for free," she said, as she gave a particularly hard rub on his temple. "You're going to be doing my rounds for the next two weeks."

He snorted, but secretly he felt a bit guilty. He would never do double rounds, and they both knew this. She really was doing this as a favor to him. Maybe he really should put more effort into being Head Boy.

Or maybe…

Maybe this was her purpose all along! To make him feel bad and then subliminally manipulate him into being a better person! He narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't say anything. She thought he was stupid, but who was laughing now!

* * *

Malfoy was wearing an expression that would not be out of place on a maniac. Was he drunk again?

"I know-" he began, a characteristic sneer already forming on his lips. Hermione rolled her eyes and dunked his head in the water, rinsing out the soap. Sweet, sweet silence.

He came up sputtering and choking; she only felt a tiny bit bad. She began a second lather as he began to babble inanely about a conspiracy plan that she was hatching. Hermione was amused.

"Hey! What'd you-" Hermione dunked his head in a second time, after she'd made sure she'd allowed him to breath.

"That's-" This time, she cut him off by throwing a towel on his head and rubbing vigorously. He threw her off, and looked out with angry eyes from under the towel.

"I can dry my hair myself," he said.

She stretched and stood up. "Alright." As she made to walk out the bathroom, she felt a strong grip close over her wrist.

"Wait, where are you going?" He looked confusedly at his own hand, wrapped around her wrist.

Hermione froze for a second too. The Draco Malfoy standing before her with his blond hair dripping into his Quidditch T-shirt seemed like a totally different boy than the short, pale boy who had tormented her for six years straight.

"I'm going to sleep," she said, shaking her head slightly.

"Is that it?"

"Uh, yeah." She left him quickly.

Later on that night, in her room, she thought about how the pathetic, small boy hiding behind two golems of friends and desperate to please his parents changed. That person would never have been picked as Head Boy. But now…

While the intimidating cold face was still there, as well as a shared slice of his parents' prejudices, it seemed that he was all grown up. He was probably doing it to guarantee her help, but he didn't call her "Mudblood" once the entire night.

* * *

A/N: To everyone who reviewed: I love you. All 4 of you.


	3. The Hangover and The Plan

Chapter 3

Sunday morning arrived with a vengeance.

"I 'ate fwyin' in wain," Ron declared, swearing vigorously while tucking in to a plate of breakfast. Judging by the amount of food he was eating and the amount of food Harry wasn't eating, it was the day of the match.

"Watch the bacon, Ron," Hermione said, shielding herself from the spray. "You'll be fine."

"Cho just left," said Harry, eyeing the Ravenclaw table like a hawk. "Come on, Ron. We need to learn the conditions. Chambers and Bradley are at the pitch already."

Hermione saw Cho pause at the Great Hall's door to let a certain blond boy in. She hadn't seen Malfoy when she woke up this morning. Thankfully.

"Gimme sec," Ron said, grabbing a biscuit. "Haha, Malfoy must've had another run in with a Hippogriff last night."

Ron was right. Malfoy's posture was slouched. It looked like he hadn't bothered to look down while buttoning his shirt, either. His face was the icing on the cake. Dark circles under his eyes, a pained expression, mussed hair… this was the reason firewhiskey was banned in Hogwarts.

He dropped gracelessly into a seat in between Zabini and Wilkes, both of whom were looking equally miserable.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

Hermione picked up her bag, still smiling. "To talk to Malfoy. Heads stuff."

"Give him hell, Hermione," Ron said between bites. She grinned hugely.

"Will do."

She walked over to Draco's seat. He had his face on the table, a position mirrored by Zabini on his right. Wilkes had long since fallen off the table and was currently lying across three chairs, passed out.

"Morning sunshine," she said, fully aware of the effect of high pitched sounds on hungover ears.

Malfoy didn't bother to lift his head. He simply pointed his wand at her with the arm that wasn't serving as a makeshift pillow. Hermione brushed the threat off and adopted a back to business tone.

"Just wanted to let you know that our meeting's been moved to tomorrow at nine. Actually, we're going to be doing a Sunday report every week from now on. Professor-"

"Shut up."

"-McGonagall wants round schedules and Hogsmeade visit plans on her desk by next Monday. We really need to-"

"_Shut up._"

She scoffed. He hate headaches? Don't drink. Or at least learn a relief charm.

"This is important," she told him.

"Everything's important," he groaned. "Fuck, I think my head's going to split…" This was a look she rarely saw on him. He usually looked so put together, so made. Today with his messy blond hair and rumpled clothes… it was funny.

"Promise not to drink again?" she asked.

"No- I mean, yes," he said, after the look she shot him.

Hermione raised her wand. "_Soberus." _

Malfoy relaxed visibly with a groan of relief, then leaned back to stretch. When he noticed the large smile creeping over her face, he scowled.

"Bit of a sadist, aren't we?"

"But of course." Suddenly, she felt a hand grip her wrist.

"Granger." Zabini was squinting up at her through his fringe, still dwelling in the recesses of a miserable hangover. "Please."

She'd already helped one ungrateful Slytherin. One more couldn't hurt.

As with Malfoy, the magic visibly straightened the dark-haired boy out. He sat up and looked at her.

"Thanks," he said. Her eyebrows shot up. Alert the media! A Slytherin thanking a Muggleborn Gryffindor!

"No problem," she told him, picking up her bag again. Malfoy, who had been staring at Zabini with a disturbed look had recovered and was piling his plate with food. Not a word of thanks from him.

"Don't forget about tomorrow," she told him as she left.

* * *

"He swerves! Narrowly missing that bludger there, _close_ call with the pole! He dives! What's that- Could it be? YES IT IS. HE'S GOT IT! POTTER'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

Hermione stood in unison along with every other person sitting in the stand, cheering. Out in the field, Harry was wearing that astonished but pleased look, visible for only moments before Ginny and Ron, and the rest of the team swarmed him, high fiving and shouting.

Grabbing her bag, she rushed towards the exit and ran towards her friends on the pitch. The rain was coming down hard now and there was a stampede of people rushing towards the castle. The Quidditch game, for both the spectators and the players, was miserable to say the least, with wind, rain, and the occasional thunder. When Harry caught the snitch, it was like a breath of relief going thru the stands.

What made the game even more fun Hermione were Hannah's dirty looks periodically shot over from the Hufflepuff stands.

Hermione casted drying spells on Harry and Ron and then hugged them. "Brilliantly played," she said.

"She says that like she has any idea what went on," Ron joked, and Hermione gave him a halfhearted punch.

"I really thought Bradley was going to get there before me," Harry said sighing. "I need more practice." Hermione rolled her eyes. If he put half as much effort into studying as Quidditch, he'd be the next Dumbledore.

"Now we've just got to beat Slytherins," Ron said darkly. "This is our last year, I swear if we lose the Cup to Malfoy…"

"Did you see his new broom? Reward for making Captain," Harry added, fingering his own Firebolt.

"Malfoy's Captain?" Hermione asked, curious. She'd always pictured him as a sneaky glory-seeking type who had no sense of team. It was difficult picturing him yelling out instructions across a pitch or spending hours drawing up strategies (like Harry). In fact, wasn't he terrible at Quidditch? "Didn't his dad buy his way onto the team?"

"… You really haven't paid any attention these past five years have you?" Ron said amused.

"I was focusing on important things, like studying!"

He rolled his eyes, but held the door open for Hermione. All three went into the locker room where Harry stowed the balls and his broom.

"With an Airslicer, how can he _not_ be amazing?" Ron muttered jealously and put his own Cleansweep 11 into his locker.

Hermione threw an arm over his shoulder. "You'll be fine. It's only Quidditch."

Both boys stopped in their tracks and looked at her as if she'd declared Snape spent hours waxing poetry about an unrequited love for Filch. "_Only Quidditch?"_

* * *

"You two can't be serious."

It was dinnertime, and the Great Hall was a wonderful place to be when it was so stormy and cold outside. Members of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Quidditch teams were ravenously making up for what they hadn't manage to stomach during lunch. Ron and Harry on the other hand...

"The match against Ravenclaw was three hours ago! And you're already starting on your Slytherin match's diagrams?"

Ron shot her a dangerous look. "War plans, Hermione, war plans."

Harry cursed suddenly from where he was fumbling around his schoolbag. "I left page eight of the diagrams in the locker room." Hermione didn't know what to say to this. He never wrote more than a foot of homework each day, but Quidditch? He could churn out eight pages in three hours, easy.

"I'll go get it for you," she said. "You eat dinner. I know you haven't had anything for lunch."

Harry looked at her gratefully. "Thanks a lot, Hermione. It's really important."

She left everything but her cloak and wand at the dinner table, planning to make a quick trek to and fro the locker rooms.

The rain had stopped, but it was as stormy outside as ever. The cold October winds swept through the grass and whistled through the tall Quidditch pillars.

Pulling her cloak about her tightly, Hermione pushed open the door to the locker room for the second time that day. An unexpected sight greeted her.

Instead of the empty rows of House colored lockers and sandwiching benches, she saw boys. Half-naked boys.

For a second, everyone froze. Hermione stared them in fascinated horror and the Slytherin Quidditch team stared back, slack jawed.

Malfoy was standing closest to her, and unwittingly, Hermione's eyes locked onto his shirtless form. Broad, built shoulders, muscled pectorals, and a flat stomach tapered into a V near his navel, just barely peeking out from under his low-slung trousers. His form retained a hint of the slenderness from his youth, but otherwise, he was a Greek god. Her face began to heat up.

It wasn't until Zabini started scrambling to pull his pants up that they fell into motion. With a squeal, she turned to face the wall.

Merlin, this wasn't happening. This was beyond embarrassing. Couldn't the ground just open up and suck her in? Why why?

"Bloody _hell_, Granger!" she heard Malfoy shout over the commotion of the boys stuffing themselves into Quidditch apparel. Her face burned with shame. What if this got out, and everyone thought she was a pervert?

"I'm _sorry! _I didn't know!" The noises quieted, but Hermione was taking no chances.

"Why don't you turn around, sweetheart? You obviously came for the view," Urquhart, the tall and hugely-muscled Chaser, said. Hermione nearly died of embarrassment when she heard someone laugh.

"I swear…" she said, turning slowly and peeking out from behind her fingers. They were all fully dressed. "I didn't know anyone was in here."

Zabini snickered from where he was leaning against a locker. "She's all red. What a prude."

"Well?" Malfoy said, now fully robed in Quidditch apparel."You going to stick around to watch us change back too?"

"I need to get something for Harry." Best not tell him it was an important strategy sheet on how to beat his team.

"Potty's little gofer," a sixth year sneered, and several other boys straightened, their features twisting to reflect their mutual disgust for the Boy-Who-Lived. A chill ran down Hermione's back. Fear. There were ten boys in the room, all of whom were taller and stronger than her. If they decided to gang up and act on their discontent... it wouldn't matter how accomplished a witch she was.

But as quickly as the feeling came, it passed. Surprisingly, it was Malfoy's voice that dispelled the tension.

"Alright, everyone out. Partner up and do drills. Sixth years, get on the equipment- yes, that means you Warrington." The boys groaned and filled out slowly, lugging their brooms and robes.

A low voice said into her ear, "Knock next time, love," and she jumped like a cat. Blaise Zabini stood alarmingly close, backing her into the wall, with one hand holding his broom and the other slinging his cloak over his shoulder. He grinned at her reaction and from such a close vantage point, the effect was lethal. Hermione was never the type to stay up all night with Lavender and Parvati fantasizing about boys, but even she felt a little warm under the full scrutiny of his infamous knicker-burning smile.

Before she could reply, Malfoy interrupted.

"Move your lazy arse, Zabini," he said impatiently, jabbing the tall boy away from Hermione with the blunt end of a broomstick. There was a certain hostility in his actions that weren't there before.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Zabini said jumping a safe distance away.

Malfoy glared. "What was that?"

"... Nothing," the Chaser said after a moment of contemplation. He made a slow and unwilling retreat out the room. Hermione couldn't help but notice that both Captains, Harry and Malfoy, acquired similar ruthlessness during pre-match practices.

When it was just him and her left, Malfoy eyed her red face and smirked. "Couldn't handle the pureness, huh?"

"Of all the things you could say, you're going to go with slurs?" She sounded blasé, but secretly she was humiliated and grateful he wasn't teasing her.

"I don't know, Granger. Ever since you casted that spell on me this morning, my wit hasn't been the same. Some of the Gryffindor must've rubbed off on me. I'm turning nice." He shuddered in mock disgust. "What did Potter leave?"

"… Nothing important," she said, as she walked toward the Gryffindor lockers. Malfoy followed.

"Is that to him or to me?" he asked, deliberately provoking her. When they reached the red lockers, he leaned back on a bench, obviously intent on discovering what it was Hermione was after.

She had to find the paper and stow it without him realizing what it was. Searching intently through Harry's locker, she racked her brains for ideas. She'd better keep him distracted.

"Why don't you use the changing stalls?" she asked.

"What's the point? We're all blokes." That was true.

"How come no girls?" she asked.

"I know you're dying to get all feminist on me," he said,"but none tried out."

She pulled aside Harry's robes, the last place she'd yet to search but there was nothing there. Giving a growl of anger, she decided to heck with it.

"_Accio match strategy!" _she said, and the paper came soaring out of a crevice between Ginny's and Angelica's lockers. It flew in a straight trajectory towards her hand… and Malfoy snatched it out of the air. Why couldn't he have been a Beater instead?

"I knew it," he crowed gleefully. "Potter's been drawing up plans already, huh?" He made to open the crumpled paper, and Hermione dived. Even if she didn't care much, it was important to Harry.

Malfoy dodged her with effortless dexterity.

"Give it, Malfoy," she said angrily, cursing her rotten luck today. If only he left with the rest of his team. The blond boy opened the paper and started to read, stretching it above his head so she couldn't reach.

She jumped for the paper, careful not to rip it, but it was no use. He was too tall, and jumping like an idiot waving her hand in the air wasn't going to help the situation. Spying the bench, she jumped on, and reached for the note, but he moved out of range.

Her center of gravity jerked out from under her suddenly. The bench was sliding, apparently not nailed to the floor as she'd expected.

She managed to fall on her feet, but stumbled a few steps until her chest hit something solid. Malfoy looked down, surprised, and then he smirked.

"Well, Granger. I don't know what to say. I had no idea you felt this way about me," he grinned. Against her will, she turned red. They were plastered together from chest to thigh and her two hands were braced against the lockers around his ribs. His even breathing flustered her hair and he was surprisingly warm. And built. Merlin, puberty had been kind to Draco Malfoy. She quickly snatched the parchment out of his hands while he wasn't paying attention.

"Hope I'm not interrupting." They both turned to look at where Zabini was standing at the door, holding his broom. Hermione detached herself the Head Boy. Hoping to make a painless escape, she headed for the door.

As she passed Zabini, he said, "Against the lockers, huh? Kinky, Granger. Didn't know you had it in you."

She scowled, vowing never to dispel a hangover for either of them again.

When the door shut, Draco turned to Blaise. "Why aren't you doing drills?"

"Had to come back for my armor."

"You're a Chaser, Zabini," he said, unimpressed.

"Right." Blaise didn't look sorry at all. "What did she want?"

Draco pulled out Potter's diagram that he'd duplicated while Granger was being short and useless. "Plans for our demise," he said. "I told you we needed to get on the field as soon as possible."

"Sweet," Blaise said. "We should figure out a counter strategy."

"Nice try. Go do the fucking drills."

* * *

Draco threw his dirty Quidditch robes into one corner of his room where the Elves would notice. He'd worked his team to the bone, forcing them to Quaffle drills for an hour. They were all flipping him off by the end of practice, but whatever. It was going to be a _sweet_ victory for the Slytherin team this year. Potter's strategy was only the icing on the cake.

Draco wanted to rub it in the Head Girl's face and gloat, but that would defeat the purpose. She felt bad enough. He held back snickers.

When Granger walked in all bundled up in her cloak, they pretty much all froze up. But the look on her face was priceless. Draco was considering flashing her again just to see that expression.

Then she blushed so hard he thought she was going to asphyxiate. Sitting on his bed, he wondered. He'd never really considered Potter's bookworm as anything more than a walking encyclopedia with an obnoxious sense of justice. But today in the locker room when she was all pressed up against him… it was pretty obvious she was a girl. He could feel every part of her against him, her soft breasts against his chest, her breath fanning his throat... Her small figure fit perfectly against him, and it stirred a hunger in him that he spent the rest of practice trying to suppress. Images of her, moaning and writhing against the cold blue steel of their lockers ran amok through his mind. What would it be like to get between those pretty thighs?

If only Zabini had to go and open his stupid mouth. Draco scowled at the memory of the dark-haired boy sneaking up on Granger and making her blush. Draco knew the pureblood Italian had every bit the reputation he had, and Zabini didn't give up on a conquest until he was bored. Suddenly, the common room portrait swung opened, interrupting his thoughts.

"So…" Draco recognized the voice of the Weasel's sister. What was her name? Vinny? Minny? "I heard you were peeking at the Slytherin team changing." Word had already spread. Draco knew he could put his faith in the Hogwarts Rumor Mill. Perfect.

He heard an embarrassed moan.

"Good for you!" Minny laughed obnoxiously. Draco recoiled. Pansy laughed like that. "So, spill!"

"Spill what?" came Hermione' meek response.

"Slimy gits they may be but you can't deny those _bodies_! Tell me _all_." Draco changed his mind. Minny was his favorite Gryffindor ever.

"Gin, I really didn't see anything."

"You're lying. You had to have seen s_omething_." Draco pressed his ear against the door, listening hard.

"Uh…" Granger was probably racking her oversized brain right now for something that would satisfy the Weasel. "Vaisey wears blue boxers."

Draco sputtered in disbelief. Of all the things to notice! …Why the _hell_ was she looking at Vaisey's underwear anyway?

"What?" Granger asked, defensively.

"... You had Zabini in there! Malfoy! Uruquhart! For Merlin's sake, even Vaisey himself! But the _only thing_ you _bother_ to notice is the COLOR OF HIS BOXERS? Do you realize what a disservice you are doing to the rest of your gender Granger?" Yes, listen to Weaselette. She knew what she was talking about.

"Wait, Hermione, where are you going?"

"I have to give something to Harry, you know, your _boyfriend?_"

The Weasel said something dismissively, but Draco didn't bother to listen anymore. Granger was going to Potter. Gryffindor was going _down_.

* * *

"Here you go Harry," Hermione said, passing him the folded note. She'd been through hell and back for that thing, but it was worth it, since Harry said it was important.

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Just to warn you, Malfoy might've read it already."

"It's okay. These are only the footnotes for Plan C."

* * *

A/N: I read all your reviews. Five times over.


	4. Rumors

Chapter 4

Draco had never liked Minerva McGonagall.

Besides the fact that she was the Head of House of some of the worst people in the castle, she had sharp eyes and sternly twisted lips that gave off a permanent air of condescendence. Suspicion. One misstep and he could practically hear the overgrown nails of the tabby cat screeching against the stone floor as she crawled off to Dumbledore.

"Mr. Malfoy," she crooned in a high, crackly tone, like an old bats. "I trust you and Miss Granger have come up with a suitable list of Prefect rotations for the upcoming Hogsmeade trip?"

Like hell they had. "Of course," he said.

She raised an eyebrow, and maybe it was the light, but she kind of looked like Granger. God, he hoped Granger would age nicer.

"Well?" she said.

"Granger's got it," he replied, recovering and smirking slightly at the shorter girl to his right. Well, he suspected she did. The goody-two shoes would probably die than not fulfill a Professor's request, even if it meant doing his half of the work as well.

Which worked out pretty fucking perfect for him. He got all the perks of being a Head (bathroom, power, girls) and none of the responsibility. Merlin, it was good to be Slytherin.

He was unable to hold back a triumphant smirk when she pulled out a thick wad of parchment. He studiously ignored her reproachful glare.

"Well done," the old cat said. "Remember to gather the Prefects and let them know. Is there anything you two would like to address before we conclude?"

"Yes, actually," Granger said, still shooting him a look. She wasn't going to snitch, was she? "I think it's only right for you to know, Professor. Malfoy didn't mmph-"

Draco clapped his hand over her mouth forcefully, all but slapping her. She jumped indignantly, but he didn't give her time to recover. Hauling her bodily to the door, he bullshitted some excuse to McGonagall's shouts of "Mr. Malfoy, what on Earth?"

They left the wing, and Draco dragged her down another few corridors for good measure. All the while, Granger was making furious noises and wrenching pitifully at his hand and being altogether uncooperative. When she reached for her wand, he had to secure her free hand as well.

Nobody passed by them in the halls. Thank Merlin. What would his father say? He could hear the man already. _Why on Earth would you sully your hands with some residual filth of the Potter boy? Have you lost the pitiful modicum of sense you had? You disappoint me, Draco. You are a disgrace to the Malfoy name!_

…Actually, the idea was sounding more and more appealing.

Draco finally let go of her in a deserted hallway between two suits of armor. He braced his ears for impact. She did not disappoint.

"Are you _mad_, Malfoy?" she yelled. "I can't believe you _manhandled_ me in front of _McGonagall _to escape from a situation that was YOUR FAULT in the first place! You had no right-"

And Draco tuned the rest out. He kept looking at her to keep up pretenses, though, so it was okay. Her lips kept moving. Half out of boredom, half out of curiosity, he gave her the standard up-and-down glance over. And Mudblood-be-damned, he liked what he saw.

Her face was screwed up in righteous anger, her brown eyes glinting hard with anger. A little wrinkle creased the top of her nose and her lips were pink and soft and cussing him out. Which was fucking hot. A stray curl fell on her face and he traced it down to her chest.

She was wearing a V-necked shirt and fitted jeans, the latter of which hugged her long, slender legs which led up to a perfect, toned, immaculate... uh, her ass. Her T-shirt's neckline wasn't indecently, but it was low enough to earn the enthusiastic approval of his dick. Draco dragged his gaze to where her chest curved into gorgeous swells of her breast. _Fuck_, she had a nice rack. He inwardly groaned.

"Malfoy. Malfoy!" Granger said, and he reluctantly unglued his eyes. She looked at him suspiciously. "Were you just…"

"What?" He said, trying to adjust his boxers inconspicuously.

She opened her mouth, and he stared at her innocently. "Nevermind."

Smoothly played, Malfoy. He patted himself on the back.

"So… the Prefect meeting. Let's get it over with soon. How about tomorrow night?"

"Can't. Quidditch Practice."

"Wednesday?"

"Practice."

She stopped walking. "When _don't _you have practice?"

Never, if it were up to him. But Bletchley and Urquhart bitched about sore arms, Vaisey had remedial classes, and Zabini had to do weekly facials or some shit so Draco was forced to give the team a day off.

"Thursday."

"Okay… wait, how's that possible? Harry's got his team doing drills daily too, and there's only one pitch."

Oh-ho-ho. So Potter's been picking up the pace too, huh? And Granger didn't look the least bit guilty that she'd relayed this _prime_ piece of information to him. Malicious excitement coursed through him. Draco had to stake out the Gryffindor's secret dry land training location, sketch counter flight formations...

She must've noticed the scheming look plastered on his face. "You two are slavedrivers, I swear. One day your team is going to mutiny and snap that precious broomstick when you aren't looking."

"I've got an Airslicer." It cost a pretty penny but Draco knew his old man was good for something. Granger didn't look impressed.

"That's a very good broom right?" If he hadn't been too busy being affronted, he would've thought that rare, clueless expression on her face cute.

"_A very good broom_- It's the best broom in the market! It's unsnappable, uncharmable, and it's got a microcalibrated oak handle with a LD suspension of three millimeters! A Brashwort brush-tail with zero drag. Zero-to-sixty in _two-point-five_… and you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"… sorry, no." She coughed uncomfortably. "That sounds wonderful. Why do you have to train so hard?"

Why_? Why? _Did she really not understand the virtues of victory and glory and how important it was to have 'Slytherin' carved onto that Cup?

"Okay, okay, I get it," she said, cutting him off before he could let her have it. "_Boys_," she muttered as she went into her room.

* * *

Draco was in a particularly good mood.

After waking up from a pleasant dream in which dozens of naked witches with curly brown hair fed him honeyed grapes, he'd discovered that the elves had outdone themselves cleaning his room. In the bathroom, Granger missed with both her bottle of shampoo and her bottle of conditioner when he walked in on her shower. He met two groups of Hufflepuffs viable for detention on the way to the Great Hall.

The only damper to his mood was that the Charms essay on his desk had not magically written itself, but that could be easily amended with some Quidditch drill related threats applied to one Blaise Zabini.

"Thanks, mate," Draco said, sitting down for breakfast and pocketing the parchment.

"Fuck. You." Blaise turned angrily to his bacon and eggs.

"Gryffindor's been doing land drills every day, according to Granger," Draco said, chewing thoughtfully. Vaisey and Bletchley looked up from where they were sitting, a matching expression of horror crawling over their faces.

"If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with extending practice, I will gorge your eyes out." Blaise brandished his greasy fork.

Draco snorted. "You could try-" Blaise threw the utensil at his head with such force that it whizzed through the air with an audible "shing." Draco ducked, and the fork clattered into one of the alcoves lining the Hall.

Vaisey and Pansy looked startled, and then started cracking up. "He's a fucking ninja!" she crooned.

Blaise just scowled. "I'm not getting that," he said, gesturing at the fork.

"Now if you only threw like that during practice," Draco said and then ran cover when he saw Blaise reach for his butter knife.

Where did that thing land again? Draco looked behind the wall, and saw a glint. As he bent down, he heard voices coming from the grove in the wall behind him. That wasn't surprising. The alcoves' openings faced away from the teachers' table, so kids often make out and shit in them, for the rush.

"I heard she begged him to date her, because she didn't want to graduate without ever having a boyfriend!"

"Gross, she's so desperate. Did you see her stuffing her face the other day?"

"What a fat slag!"

"That's mean!" Giggles sounded.

From their voices, Draco guessed there were maybe three girls in the adjacent grove in the wall. Underclassmen gossip was so boring. He picked up Blaise's fork and went to sit down, when a familiar name came up in their high pitched chatter.

"Draco Malfoy? That boy is so _fine_…" A wide grin spread across his face, and he leaned back against the wall. There was always time for a bit of ego stroking.

"Mhm, I only go to Slytherin matches for him. And that curly-haired Chaser." What? Blaise had _nothing_ on him.

"Gross, Ingrid! Malfoy sleeps with a different girl each week. Who knows what kind of diseases he has?" This conversation was rapidly turning downhill.

"Yeah, he did every blonde in Seventh Year for a bet." Draco frowned. Now that was just-

"He's terrible in the sack! None of the girls go back to him."

"No, Daphne definitely stayed-"

"For his money! His parents send him tons-"

"What parents? His mother's a floozy and his dad's just crawled his miserable way out of Azkaban-"

Now, he was pissed. That bitch had no idea what she was talking about, and he didn't like the idea of that kind of bullshit circulating. Rounding the wall, he said, "You know, there's a reason that blokes never want to hang around girls like you."

Three sixth year Ravenclaws jumped and stared up at him from their huddle. When they realized who he was, fear spread through their features.

"Malfoy! Uh-" A short, mousy girl squeaked. She was the smallest of the three, leaning next to a plump redhead girl with one too many makeup spells on.

"We weren't breaking the rules. You can't give us detention," another tall, black-haired girl said defiantly.

He laughed hoarsely. "You think that's the worst I'll do to you?" His tone was purposely insinuating, and he saw all three of their eyes dart inadvertently to his left forearm. Although the Dark Lord had been vanquished, his name was uttered in hushed tones and his legacy was regarded with fear.

"It wasn't us. Someone else started the rumors," Mouse said. She couldn't muster the courage to look him in the eye.

Draco frowned. Well that was fantastic. "Who?"

The three girls raised their heads and looked at each other, as if debating whether or not they should simply walk out into the Great Hall and hope Draco never carried out his threats. The intimidating look on his face must have changed their mind. Their next words sent a ripple of shock coursing through him.

In unison, the three Ravenclaws said, "Hermione Granger."

* * *

**A/N:** The hottest summer in recorded history is finally over! Now here come the hurricanes.


	5. The Towel

**A/N: **7/4/11. A lovely reviewer asked why this chapter was written in 1st person as opposed to 3rd. It was due to a massive brainfart on my part. I've edited accordingly. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Five

There were many plausible reasons for Draco Malfoy to be standing in a dark enclosed space with three young witches.

None of them were good.

Hermione hurried to the Slytherin end of the Great Hall. What had the Founders been thinking? Properly hidden and sufficiently dim, the alcoves were the home to generations of illicit teenage snogfests and alcohol binges. Malfoy would do tradition proud.

"What are you up to?" Hermione asked, hands on her hips. At the sound of her voice, he spun, bright blond hair shining ridiculously in the candlelight.

"You-," he started. The three girls shared a fearful glance. Her suspicions were confirmed.

"I can't believe-" she started.

But the intensity of the rain-coloured gaze he fixed her with froze the words in her throat. His expression was challenging and hard, like a feral animal clawing at its chains. Defensive and unhappy.

"... what's wrong?" she asked. Was it his family? His friends? School? She had no clue. She'd known his name for seven years and shared his bathroom for seven weeks, and still she didn't _know _him.

Then again, here was the git who ruthlessly taunted and teased her and made her cry. If he could insult her with complete disregard, then it was only fair that she return the blow when he was vulnerable.

She held his gaze steadily, but try as she might, she couldn't muster up the hate to do it.

Opportunity slipped away. Malfoy, who appeared satisfied after his scrutiny, shook off his mood. Just like that, all the tension around them dissipated. The cocky jerk who "accidentally" walked into all her morning showers was back.

"Got sick of blondes, I guess," he said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Thought I'd diversify."

"What?" She was a little stunned at the sudden change in mood.

"They're too needy. See, I had practice three nights out of the week, but Daphne wanted to shag daily, so I told her we could do it in the locker room-"

"Malfoy!" Hermione flushed.

"-since the showers were right there anyway. Was cramped as hell though-"

Why was he going on about his sex life? And in front of those innocent girls no less!

Hermione looked over his shoulder, and saw that it was already too late. Their eyes had widened to the size of snitches in terror.

"That's enough," she said, and pulled him away from the poor Ravenclaws by the arm. He didn't shrug her off. She made a beeline for the Slytherin table.

Suddenly, he stopped walking and walking into his built form was like hitting a brick wall. Malfoy turned and told the three witches, "For the record, I'm amazing in the sack."

Hermione flushed and kept walking. Most of the students had left the Hall already, with only a couple of zealous Ravenclaws scrambling to eat before the food Vanished, having spent the first half of dinner sharing homework answers.

Malfoy looked relaxed. That was good. Seeing him anxious threw her off. Draco Malfoy wasn't supposed to be vulnerable. He was supposed to be the infallible tower of evil in a sea of uncertainty.

So what was that hesitation back there? Should she ask? What if he laughed at her or got angry? Maybe it wasn't her business.

"Um, you're ok, right?" she finally asked.

He looked down at her, inclining his head. Had he always been so tall?

"Granger, your kindness is frightening. Stop it," he said, shrugging off her grip.

Douche. _Try _to be nice to a bloke.

The look on my face must've warned him off, because he grabbed his bag and walked away.

"By the way," he said, spinning on his heels, "You left your bra on the towel rack."

At the magic word, the head of every boy within a hundred meter radius snapped up, like dogs catching the scent of meat, and swerved my way.

_Douche._

* * *

"It's an ex-girlfriend," Blaise said, tossing a Charmed cushion across the room. It launched itself at the portrait on the wall and scared the fat pheasant out of its frame. His spin was a little off. He'd have to fix that with extra drills tomorrow.

Draco settled deeper into the armchair. "No, Pansy and Daphne are the only ones at Hogwarts. Pansy doesn't talk to Ravenclaws-"

"And Greengrass is still hot for you," he finished, catching the cushion as it zoomed back to him. "What's the plan then?"

"Nothing." The culprit was obviously a girl (since real men didn't spread rumours), so he had nothing to worry about.

Blaise yawned. "Yeah, forget about that. You're pretty made this year, anyway." His gaze swept the large lounge with a distinct air of jealousy. "Damn, I should've tried harder in Sixth."

Draco snorted. "No chance. You had McGonagall after your arse the whole year."

"Missy was bloody _fit_," Blaise said. "How was I supposed to know her great-aunt was the great crone?"

He threw the cushion at the bathroom door, and it bounced off sideways. Because said door opened. And then, Draco didn't give a shit about the cushion anymore because Hermione Granger was walking into the Common Room in a towel. Naked.

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming.

Only he wasn't. Because if this was a jerk-off fantasy he was having, that towel would not be here. Neither would Blaise and his obnoxious "miracles-do-happen" expression.

Granger turned around and froze at their presence. Her lips parted in shock and his eyes followed a drop of water from her hair as it ran down the slim column of her neck, to the plane of her collarbone, to The Best Place On Earth beneath that towel.

She jumped and ran for her room (which, thank Merlin, was on the other side of this rather large lounge). "Don't look," she squeaked.

Needless to say, Draco kept his baby greys glued to her behind and tried his damn hardest to commit the lovely image to memory. Damn. Were her legs always that nice?

It was a tragic moment when she made it to her door and slipped inside. He stared at it after it closed, hoping desperately that she'd forgotten her knickers in the bathroom and had to go retrieve it without a towel. Unfortunately, it didn't happen.

Blaise closed his mouth. "Tell me you hit that."

Draco said nothing.

"Then she's single?"

"Don't know," he said. She probably was though. Unless she was still dating that poor, overgrown carrot stick.

A great, big shit-eating grin crawled its way onto Blaise' face. Suddenly, Draco wanted nothing more than to punch him in the nose.

"Actually, no. She's taken," he snapped.

"By _who_?"

"By... Greene."

"The Hufflepuff Chaser?" Zabini asked. Greene was a rather large and hairy fellow who was in a lot of remedial classes. Granger and he had probably exchanged all of three words.

Speak of the devil. The door to Hermione's room opened and she walked out, stiffly, in a white dress, with an expression not out of place on a sacrifice about to be fed to ravenous wolves. Draco willed his hardest for the white dress to burn in a miraculous act of Merlin. He could feel Blaise subtly checking her out.

"Granger, are you dating Greene?" Zabini directed the question at her breasts. The itch to punch him came back.

"W-who?" she asked, sliding over to the couch. She hugged a cushion to her chest. He didn't blame her.

Zabini scooted himself over towards her. An indescribable and completely unfounded panic rose in Draco's chest at their proximity. Almost automatically, he got up and sat between them.

"Your boyfriend, according to him," Blaise said, glaring at Draco.

"My mistake," Draco replied.

Granger looked nervously between the two boys. "So... uh, how come you two aren't at practice?"

"The Yule Ball committee's measuring the field for some bullshit Christmas thing," Draco said. Nevermind that it was barely November. "Speaking of, aren't you supposed to be there, Zabini?"

He snorted. "What's the point? I'm a Seventh Year."

Draco smirked. Zabini was such a sucker. Three... two... one...-

"You're skipping Prefect duty?" Hermione exclaimed.

Score.

Why anyone would mention anything akin to breaking the rules while within a hundred-meter radius of mini-McGonagall Draco would never understand. Zabini realized his mistake a moment too late.

"Uh... what I meant was... I was excused-"

"You get on that field- right. Now," she said through gritted teeth. Draco loved it when Granger got angry. She stood up and marched over to where Zabini sat.

"You can't tell me what to do," Zabini said, abandoning his feinted ignorance. "And wipe that smirk off your face, Malfoy."

He shrugged, and sat back. Zabini was going to get his ass handed to him on a golden plate with _Granger_ written all over it.

"Zabini, you have to set an example! If you don't go, the younger Slytherin prefects will think it's okay to slack too. And you can't just think that being a seventh year gives you reason to slack off! McGonagall can still kick you out. That'll go on your transcript!" she retorted.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm a Zabini. No one's going to _look_ at my transcript."

She stared furiously at him, her jaw working. "How- wha- you can't get through life on your family's prestige and fortune!"

"Yes you can," Zabini and Draco responded simultaneously.

"Shut _up_, Malfoy," she snapped. Zabini smirked. Git. "I hate lazy, cocky douchebags who skate through life on their parents' work."

The grin slid off Zabini's face.

"I don't mooch off my parents' work," he muttered. "I'll make my own living."

"Oh really," she asked. "What happened to '_I'm a Zabini so no one's going to look at my transcript'_, hm?"

He scowled. "That..." Draco was holding back snickers by now.

"You never do your duties. Take _responsibility_," she urged.

"I- he never does his work either!" Zabini said, pointing at Draco.

"Hey, this is all you, mate," the Head Boy returned.

Granger didn't even look at him. "Malfoy is a lazy git whose only ambitions in life are winning the Quidditch Cup and getting laid."

Ouch. But true.

"I thought you were better than him," she said softly. And then a miraculous change swept over her countenance. Her angrily furrowed brows and stiffened posture softened and her face turned vulnerable and almost... pleading. It was mildly disturbing. Even though this had nothing to do with Draco, he wanted to get up and apologize to her for whatever the hell he could think of until she stopped with those giant eyes.

"Blaise," she said in the same even, sad tone. "Are you going to let me down?"

Draco ripped my eyes reluctantly from Granger's glowing face to look at Zabini. He was absolutely wrapped in her charm, and was staring at her like a drowning man would a flask of pumpkin juice. "No-no," he stuttered like an idiot.

She smiled at him and his eyes widened even further. "Then you'll go?"

He shrugged, and tried to look cool. "I guess. There's nothing better to do here anyway." Without a second word, he grabbed his jacket off the couch and walked out the Common Room to do her bidding like a pussywhipped idiot. The portal shut.

What. The. Fuck.

Draco said as much. Hermione shrugged and sat down, with not a vestige of her previous desolation remaining. "When you've been best friends with two boys for seven years, you tend to figure out what works and what doesn't."

That, or Zabini _really_ wanted to get into her knickers.

Draco was not pleased.

* * *

**A/N: **I love this "Visitor Country" option. US is dominating (representtt) with Australia second, out representing UK by a landslide. I guess my Ameribritglish _was _kinda offensive.


End file.
